Kate Wingo - Highland Mist 01 (7 page)

For
a brief moment, Iain held her gaze, the shared glance causing Yvette to recall with vivid clarity all that transpired between them in the shanty. Perhaps Iain also recalled their passionate interlude; for she discerned the hint of a tender smile upon his lips. A ghost smile that was soon replaced with a look of steely resolve.

In the next instant, grabbing the reins in his left hand, Iain urged the horse into a fast trot.

Unwilling to dwell on the meaning of that fleeting smile, Yvette obediently fastened her arms around his waist. And silently wished Sir Galen Godspeed.

The surrounding countryside passed in an indistinct blur of leaden gray sky, emerald green grass
and purple heather. Having bypassed the rutted cart track that led to the foothills, Iain and his kinsmen instead raced across a windswept glen, chunks of flayed turf flying in their wake. Yvette could only assume that they were bound for the snow-covered mountains that loomed on the far side of the narrow valley.

Again, she craned her neck, anxiously scanning the vale behind them, hoping to see a shimmer of polished armor, or any tell-tale
indication that Sir Galen and his men were in pursuit. Clearly, Iain and his Highlanders feared as much for they relentlessly charged across the glen as though the Prince of Darkness himself was on their heels.

Already they’d traveled a good league and a half, and with each passing furlong, the hope of resc
ue seemed all the more remote. Once Iain and his clansmen reached the mountains, they would be able to fade from sight, green and brown-swathed chameleons. Familiar with these wild environs, they undoubtedly knew every mountain pass and every village where they could take refuge.

Espying a winding burn up ahead
– without a bridge in sight – Yvette nervously tightened her hold around Iain’s waist, surmising that he intended to ford the rain-swollen stream in a flying leap.

As they cantered ever closer to the verge, she tried not to dwell on the fact that not only was Iain’s horse winded, it carr
ied a heavier load than usual. Although that didn’t stop the beast from lengthening its stride as it bounded forward.

In the next instant
they were airborne.

When, a moment later, they returned to earth, the impact from the landing caused
Yvette’s body to slam against Iain’s backside, her rump precariously sliding forward. Hit in the side of the face by the leather-covered scabbard that hung off Iain’s shoulder, she nearly lost her balance.

Which is when
Yvette realized that the only thing keeping her aloft was her white-knuckled grip.

While it might be potentially dangerous, it suddenly occurred to
her that if she threw herself from the horse, she might be able to affect her escape. Then, once she was free of her captors, she could simply wait for Sir Galen to happen upon her.

With a dangerous foe in pursuit, more
than likely Iain would curse the loss of his two thousand pounds, but continue on his way. Sir Galen de Ogilvy was one of the most feared knights in all of Christendom and only a madman would challenge him in open combat.

Knowing
that she had to execute her plan
before
Iain and his clansmen reached the mountains, Yvette focused her gaze on the terrain up ahead. Already they’d started to climb upwards, the verdant valley undulating into rolling foothills. Sighting a copse of pine trees abutted by a grassy meadow, she clenched her teeth as she girded her resolve. As fate would have it, she and Iain were in the rear of the pack of riders; and so she had no fear of being trampled by a charging horse.

Not giving herself time to change her mind,
Yvette began to loosen her grip on Iain’s waist. With only scant seconds to act, she impulsively leaned her head forward and lightly kissed Iain on his leather-clad shoulder just before she flung herself off the back of the horse.

Windmilling through the air, she hit the ground
on her left side with a jarring thud, the impact causing an instant surge of nausea.

Unable to move,
Yvette lay sprawled on a soggy bed of grass, hit with ensuing waves of pain.

Although dazed, out of the corner of her eye she
caught sight of the backend of Iain’s horse just before it disappeared into the grove of trees.

When
the pain finally diminished to a tolerable level, she staggered to her feet. Her movements slow and ungainly, she furtively glanced to-and-fro.

Sweet Jesu
! I did it!

Iain and his kinsmen were nowhere in sight, the sextet of riders having disappeared
into the pine grove up ahead.

To her bewilderment
, the fact that she’d successfully eluded Iain incited a momentary panic. Inundated with a deluge of unfettered emotions, Yvette sank to her knees
.

Confusion. Fear. Anguish
.

A pandemonium of emotions
roiled within her, creating a veritable tempest.

Blinking back treacherous tears, she
once again clambered to her feet and limped gracelessly toward the small loch on the other side of the grassland, her left ankle throbbing against her boot.

She’d gone
only a few feet when, still winded from the fall, she came to a sudden halt. Hearing a low grunt emanate from behind her, Yvette glanced over her shoulder.

And
promptly shrieked.

No more than two ells away, white froth dripping off menacing
yellow tusks, was a wild boar!

“Damnation! What do ye mean she fell off the horse?” Diarmid shouted
angrily.

His own ire
on a short tether, Iain glared at his cousin, suspicious as to the reason for Diarmid’s impassioned reaction. “I mean exactly what I said. She fell off the bloody horse a few moments ago. Just before we entered the pine grove.”

God help the wench!
Hopefully, she didn’t break her bloody neck.

Because
his kinsmen were unaware of the mishap, Iain had quickly urged his mount into a gallop so that he could halt the fleeing horsemen. Danger loomed, and disaster might very well strike if they were inadvertently separated. Before he rode back to retrieve Yvette, it was imperative that he give orders to his men. Orders that could very well save their lives.

Diarmid’s eyes
narrowed. “I think Lady Yvette intentionally threw herself off yer horse.”

“Why in God’s name would
—”

“If I was the lass, I would have done no diffe
rently,” his cousin interjected. “What were ye thinking this morning, lying in that dirt hovel wi’out so much as a stitch on yer back? Could ye no’ have controlled yer animal urges at least until ye got her into a proper bed?”

“The dev
il take ye, Diarmid MacKinnon! Ye were the one who convinced me to bed her!” Iain bellowed angrily, barely resisting the ‘animal urge’ to grab his meddlesome cousin by the neck and fling him over the front of his mount. “She’s a widow no’ an untried maid. She kens full well what a man is hiding beneath his plaid.”

“That is no’ a valid reason to accost the lady.”

Furious that he was wasting precious time arguing over something that was none of Diarmid’s concern, Iain turned to his men and said, “I want ye to ride to the pass at Drumochter. When ye get there, split into two groups, each heading in a different direction. Once ye go through the pass, ride no more than a league then split off again. That should put the bastards off our scent. Wait for me at the auld standing stones. If I don’t show up by the morrow, continue to Castle Maoil wi’out me.”

“God be wi’ ye.
And give my regards to Lady Yvette,” Diarmid shouted over his shoulder before he urged his horse into a canter.

“Humph,”
Iain snorted, still in a foul mood over his cousin’s avid interest in
his
Sassenach.

Worried that Yvette may have injured herself in the precipitous fall,
he urged his own steed forward. It didn’t matter whether she fell off the horse, or if she intentionally threw herself from the beast, he
had
to find her.

When
he reached the edge of the pine grove, he dismounted and tethered his horse to a stout pine limb. That done, he quickly made his way toward the plush grassland that bordered a nearby loch.

Overhead the clouds parted, allowing a slender skein of sunlight to filter down to earth.

Mayhap it portends good fortune
. If anything dire happened to the lass, he would—

Just then
, Iain caught sight of Yvette near the loch, causing him to murmur a quick prayer of thanks.

At h
earing him approach, she very slowly craned her neck in his direction, a stricken expression on her face. When Iain waved his hand in greeting, Yvette tersely shook her head, silently signaling him not come any farther.

“Like bloody hell,” he muttered under his breath, wo
ndering at her strange behavior.

Turning his head from side
-to-side, Iain carefully surveyed the grassland abutting the loch. Although nothing appeared amiss, in the distance a heron loudly screeched, the shrill noise alerting him to the fact that some unseen danger lurked in the near vicinity.

Careful to make as little noise as possible, he slid
a dirk out of his boot, the deadly dagger his preferred weapon when fighting in close quarters.

Slowly, unsure whether he stalked man or beast, Ia
in made his way toward Yvette.

When he came to within a few feet of where she stood,
Yvette’s expression turned frantic. In the pale glow of morning sunlight, Iain saw a plump tear roll down her cheek. No sooner did he notice the rock that she had clutched in her hand than he heard a distinctive, bloodcurdling squeal.

Immediately, h
is gaze dropped to the ground.

There, hidden in the marsh grasses only a few feet from where Yvette stood, was a
ferocious, slathering boar.

“Don’t move,”
Iain hissed at her, the sound of his voice causing the vicious beast to abruptly whirl in his direction.

Which is
precisely what Iain wanted the boar to do. A woman armed with only a rock was no match for an animal capable of using its tusks to gut a good-sized man to death.

Come to me, ye hell-born brute,
Iain silently beckoned as he locked gazes with the beast.

About to launch his attack, Iain s
aw Yvette unexpectedly rear her right arm.

Christ’s
blood! What is she doing?!

“No!” he roared as Yvette threw
the rock at the snarling beast, hitting it square between the shoulders.

The
boar jerked its head, malevolently eyeing Yvette . . . just before it lunged toward her.

In the next instant, Iain threw himself across the animal’s backside, imprisoning its massive head in the crook of his left arm as he jabbed his dirk into the wiry gray coat that covered its neck.

With a quick yank of the wrist, he slashed the beast’s throat, the boar falling to the ground with a purposeful thud.

Infuriated
, Iain lurched to his feet.

“By hell
! Ye nearly got us both killed!” he yelled, drops of warm blood flying off the tip of his dirk as he angrily swung his arm through the air.

Trembling
, her beauty marred with a look of stark terror, Yvette recoiled from him. She had such big, fearful eyes – like that of a forlorn waif – Iain had to resist the urge to take her in his arms and offer what comfort he could. Noticing the way that she stared at his bloodied dirk, he bent at the waist and wiped the blade on the boar’s hindquarters.

“I thought I ordered ye not move,” he snarled, annoyed that Yvette seemed more terrified of
him
than she had been of the boar. Still holding his dirk, he slipped the blade into his boot.

“I d-did not realize it was an order,” she warbled, takin
g a backward step as she spoke.

To counteract her retreat, Iain took
two
steps in her direction. “Everything I say to ye is an order. I am not in the habit of making suggestions.”

“Perhaps it is a habit that you should cultivate.”

“Are ye always so contrary?”

“I am no
t the least bit contrary. I am— It is just that you—” Although she stood her ground, Yvette appeared visibly flustered, her cheeks inflamed with rosy color.

Because
she was a gently-bred noblewoman, Iain suspected that she had little experience with the killing of things. Roasted boar appeared on the banquet table and she ate it, blissfully unaware of the bloodletting that preceded the sumptuous fare.

“How is it that ye c
ame to be here?” he asked, his voice deceptively calm. “This is no’ where ye’re supposed to be.”

Refusing to meet his gaze, the lady said,
“And where is it that you think I should be?”

Unable to control his anger,
Iain bellowed, “On the back of my horse, damn ye!” Grabbing Yvette by the chin, he forced her to look him directly in the eye. “I’ll have naught but the truth from you. Did ye fall from my mount or were ye attempting to escape from me?”

“Given the brutish way
that you have treated me thus far and the fact that—”

“Answer the question!”

Yvette’s chest visibly rose and fell as she took several deep breaths. “I attempted to escape,” she murmured, her gaze dropping to the ground.

Inexplicably disappoi
nted, Iain let go of her chin. “Are ye daft, woman? Ye could have been killed.”

“At the ti
me,
that
was not a consideration. I wanted only to secure my freedom.”

“And a high price ye would have paid for it with a broken neck,” he muttered, thunderstruck that she
’d even made the attempt.

“I desire to be free.
Is that so difficult for you to comprehend?”

“’Tis no’ so difficult to ken
. But if the MacDougalls had found ye wandering the marsh, ye’d be dead no’ free.”

He
aring that, her brow furrowed. “And who may I ask are the MacDougalls?”

“Who are the
— Christ’s blood!” he blurted, overcome with a strong desire to shake the wench. “Who do ye think we’ve been running from?”

“I thought it was . . . was Sir Galen de Ogilvy . . . the earl’s nephew,”
Yvette stammered, clearly bewildered. As she stared at the glen in the distance, her eyes glistened with unshed tears. “’Twas foolish of me to think that Sir Galen would—” Squaring her shoulders, Yvette brusquely waved the thought aside. “Why are you being pursued by the MacDougalls?”

“
They are vassals of the Lord of the Lorne,” he told her. “Which makes us blood enemies.”

“And you are
not
a vassal of the Lord of the Lorne, I take it.”

“
The MacKinnon gives allegiance to the Lord of the Isles.”

“I have heard of the bloodthirsty warfare that constantly rages amongst the
Highland clans,” Yvette said in a circumspect tone of voice. “And after spending the last two days in your forced company, I can well imagine that you have more than your fair share of enemies.”

One sid
e of Iain’s mouth quirked upward. “Aye, we Highlanders are a wild lot. There’s no denying it.”

“Why did you not tell me beforehand that
it was an enemy clan giving chase?”

“I am the MacKinnon.
I dinna have to explain myself to anyone.”

“But if you had done so, we would not be standing in the middle of
this godforsaken glen with a dead boar at our feet,” Yvette retorted, belligerently tipping her chin at him.

By God, she ha
s more backbone than many a man
, Iain silently marveled.

He’d never before
encountered a woman who so bravely challenged his authority. Certainly, Fiona had never challenged him so steadfastly.

“If ye dinna like where ye’re standing, ye should have kept yer arse on the horse,” he
said pointedly. “Did ye think I would not hunt you down? Only last night I told you what I would do if ye foolishly attempted to escape from me.”

“My mistake was in failing to consider the lure of two thousand pou
nds,” Yvette peevishly snapped. “A princely sum, to be sure. And one which you have ably proven you will risk life and limb to secure.”

To Iain’s surprise, it belatedly occurred to him that the ransom had been the last thing on his min
d when he set out find her. At the time, his only concern had been for her safety. Yet here the wench stood accusing him of blind avarice.

The devil take her!

Angered, Iain tramped over to the dead boar and went down on bent knee in front of it. Yanking his dirk out of his boot, he jabbed it into the animal’s gut.

“Wh
at in God’s name are you doing? Is it a not enough that you killed the beast the one time?” Yvette shrilly exclaimed as she rushed toward him.

Iain stopped what he wa
s doing and glanced up at her. His lost, forlorn waif had vanished. In her stead was an incredibly haughty English noblewoman.

“I am butchering the hell-born beast so that yer ladyship can dine on roast boar instead of soggy oak cakes,” he growled before continuing to disembowel the
animal.

“To be sure, roast boar
will be a vast improvement over last night’s fare.”

“
On that we can agree,” he conceded, his stomach already growling in anticipation.

“
The fact that we can agree on
anything
is certainly a rare happenstance,” Yvette said in a disdainful tone of voice. “Owing to the fact that we hail from two different worlds, we are of unlike mind.”

Iain paused a moment, Yvette’s condescension l
ike so much bile in his belly. Slowly, purposefully, he appraised her from head to foot before he said, “We were of like mind this morning.”

Gasping softly
, Yvette clenched and unclenched her fists, the gold-encrusted emerald that she wore on her ring finger glimmering in the patchy sunlight.